


Stories from the White; the Blue; and the Red

by rainer76



Category: Fringe
Genre: Family histories, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-27
Updated: 2012-07-27
Packaged: 2017-11-10 20:34:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/470418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainer76/pseuds/rainer76
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>History is written by the victors.  Multiple references to The Inner Child (s.1), The Bishop Revival (s.2) and Letters of Transit (s.4)  No spoilers, just 'once upon a time' story-telling</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stories from the White; the Blue; and the Red

The White:

 

There are multiple realities, not one, two or three, but thousands upon millions. September is an expert in the realities designated as ‘red’ and ‘blue’ (the latter renamed amber). On top of these lifelong academic pursuits, September is also an avid historian of his _own_ reality, simply known as ‘white’ among the scientists or ‘Prime’ amongst the political contingent.

September jumps amongst the colour coded realities with the ease of modern technology. He’s in blue to witness the arrival of the cylinder.  He’s in red to document the precise moment Dr. Bishop discovers a cure. He travels with the founding doctrine of science guiding his actions: _Observe. Never interfere._

 _It’s your version of the Prime Directive,_ Peter will snort, somewhere in the year 2036. _And by the way, you guys **suck** at it. You’re like Captain Kirk, stomping all over the goddamn place._

The points of divergence between September’s ‘home’ and the histories of red and blue were endlessly fascinating. For instance in the year 1943, World War Two evolved into a deadly race - not between soldiers or ordinance, the redrawn lines of a conquered land - but a headlong rush toward the finishing line where _science_ were the ultimate victor. The A-bomb was on the brink of discovery in America. And in a science lab in Germany, a thirty-one year old man named Robert Bischoff, head professor at the University of Berlin, was leading a team in human genetics: he was aided by his brother, Heinrich, and a young lab assistant called Alfred Hoffman.

The task assigned by the Third Reich was the creation of a virus capable of targeting specific genetic traits: the strand of a person’s hair, the colour of their eyes; or the pigmentation of their skin. On the 2nd of February 1944, Herr Hoffman would release their creation on the unsuspecting island of Crete, a sample population in a fixed environment. It served as a demonstration to the entire world. The Allied forces surrendered within thirty-six hours, the threat of viral and chemical warfare more insidious than any bullet.

The name Bischoff became synonymous with Victory Day. Robert, _a scientist_ he would say later, _I was a scientist, not a soldier or a politician,_  committed suicide fifteen years later, survived by his son, Wilhem.

World War Two is a dark spot in a long history, a show of power to ensure political stability ( _Yeah,_ Broyles will say in 2015, drawing the word out, eyes flashing, _because that's never known to backfire_ ), where Hitler’s dream of one race would, ultimately, become reality. When September is born in 2501, the events of 1944 are nothing less than the savage antics of smart animals, where homo sapiens have more in common with Cro-Magnon than the modern version of man.

There are three things that need to be known about September’s personal history: he is allowed into the Observer program because his father was the founding creator of Slipstream – the ability to jump between any reality and any time– two: his father is declared clinically insane. When September is two years old, the creator of Slipstream declared the impossible and said he travelled _forward_ into his own reality, specifically, to the year 2609. He tells September he saw something. Something monstrous.

He takes his child by the hand and jumps. _You will be safe here,_ he says without intonation, without feeling.

It’s not his reality - September can tell by the air quality - and it’s not his time, he can tell by the vermin that scurries in the dark. He leaves September buried in a concrete tomb in Brooklyn, where he will remain in the dark for six years until Olivia Dunham finds him. The third thing about September: is that at heart, he is a courageous man. He fell in love with her as a child and when his people find him, return him to his rightful time, his rightful reality, he will carry her memory always. September will study, compete, best _hundreds_ of hopeful applicants to claim a place on the Observer program. To find his way to her, and to the Bischoff’s - who are known under a different name here - who travelled a very different path.

By 2609, the Observer program is under the direction of Windmark and their directive is no longer about history and Non-interference.  It's no longer the golden age of discovery and science. Their world is about to be destroyed. They can’t invade the past of their own reality; they’re loathe to create any changes that might affect the outlook of _their_ society, _their_ culture. Instead, they look sideways.

They look elsewhere...and invade.

 

(that's how it went in one world).

 

***

 

The Blue:

 

In another world, Robert Bischoff defected in 1942. All of his research on genetics was handed over to the Allies and Alfred Hoffman was left with ciphers and codes he could not understand, a virus that wouldn’t exist for sixty years. America drops the bomb in 1945 and the rest of the world, terrified, raises white flags, the threat of nuclear genocide greater than any bullet.

The First Observer will leave his son behind in this place - a reality that will need to be defended. He will also leave behind a manifesto, documenting a coming war where soldiers will be required - the type of war not won by rifles or bombs, where the enemy will conquor them by the advancement of technology - but something different, something unique. He leaves the ZFT with the Bischoff’s – originally claimed as national heroes in his own reality, when the world was still exhausted after six years of war.  Then later, through the lens of history, reviled – a name both scorned and revered, where the deeds (and the sins) of one generation are passed to the next.

Olivia is the greatest weapon Walter and Belly create.

Peter never sees her as a weapon, never fears her or shies from her gifts.  He loves her, falls in love slowly, _deeply,_ a gradient that tips him in whatever direction Olivia lies.

Between the two of them, they save a strange, bald-headed boy who never speaks, who becomes endlessly fascinated with their shifting history, who makes his stand with the resistance (with them) and doesn't back down.

 

***

 

THE RED:

 

He calls her Mata Hari. Walter says it with _scorn_.

Liv tilts her head at him, eyes narrowed. “Did you choose that name because the spy angle, the killer angle, or because she was the enemy?”

“Both,” Walter snaps. “ _All_ of it.”

“You could just as easily called me Nancy Wake.”

Walter straightens, chin raised.

“Spy?" Liv prompts:  "Leader of the Maquis? In charge of some seven thousand men? Otherwise known as the White Mouse?”

“I know who she was. She was on the Gestapo’s most wanted list.”

Liv grins, _fiercely_. “She rode more than five hundred miles on a bicycle, through several German checkpoints when her face was on every wanted poster in France to deliver codes. She killed men with her bare hands or gutted them. She did everything Mata Hari did and more, she was a spy, a killer, and a soldier, too. You could have chosen Nancy Wake's name just as easily as Mata Hari's for the things that I have done.”

“She was a hero,” Walter corrects. “It’s not the same thing.”

“That depends on which side of the gun you're standing on. " Liv kicks her heels against the bench, ducks her head, voice softening. "They were both brave, I think.  Mata Hari wasn’t even German.”

Walter snorts and looks away, mouth twisting into a faint smile. “And the White Mouse wasn’t even French.”

“Australian. But she married a French man, and when the Gestapo tortured and murdered her husband, they managed to annoy her. There are always reasons to fight. The same reasons why I came here.”

“I’m fairly certain we didn’t torture your husband.”

“No," her voice is level, her eyes turn agate. "You destroyed my world instead.”

He swallows at her tone and looks away, hands resting against his lab bench, his knuckles turning white. “We’re trying to fix it…we are.”

“I know,” Liv says simply, and folds her hand on top of his.

**Author's Note:**

> I think I've just tipped over to the 'spamming people with fic' point. But if you read this (rather than roll your eyes) thank you. I think I told someone once that are lot of my stories are interconnected - I just don't have the talent to write it as one piece.


End file.
